


Grey

by VulpesVulpes713



Series: Fictober 2018 [10]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Blind Lance AU, Fictober 2018, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Permanent Injury, References to Depression, klance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-10
Updated: 2018-11-10
Packaged: 2019-08-21 17:22:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16580801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpesVulpes713/pseuds/VulpesVulpes713
Summary: Prompt:“You should have seen it.”





	Grey

He wakes into a numbness, which is as disorientating as the sense of falling that follows. Arms catch him before the floor does, and warm breath tickles his skin as whoever holds him up speaks. The sensations are slow to process, but he understands them soon enough.

 

They ask how he is, what he feels. Is there any pain? Can you stand on your own?

 

And Lance nods, eyes still closed. A headache lingers at the back of his mind, ready to overwhelm him at any moment.

 

He tries opening his eyes, but the room is too bright. It burns, and he shrinks into Hunk’s chest, cowering.

 

A silence follows, heavy with concern, and it’s only when Coran attempts to explain does the atmosphere in the room shift.

 

 _“It’s normal,”_  he says, pressing something into Lance’s hands.  _“Sometimes the senses can be delicate follow a stint in the pods. It’s nothing to worry about. He just needs rest.”_

 

And Lance nods in agreement. He’s exhausted, and just like that it’s settled. He’ll sleep, and everything will be better in the morning.

 

Hunk helps him with the glasses Coran gave him, gently placing them over his eyes and instructing him that it should be okay to open them now.

 

But when Lance does all he sees is black, a stark difference to the devastating brightness from earlier.

 

He thinks nothing of it. The glasses must just be dark, to help with the sensitivity. 

 

He’s guided to his room, and sleeps as peacefully as naivety permits.

 

And that’s the last time he does.

 

* * *

 

His eyes don’t work. But he doesn’t accept it at first.

 

The morning after waking from the pods he goes to visit Coran, knowing his way around the castle by memory. It’s still dark, but it’s not complete, as if someone left a light on in the hall and it’s shining through the cracks of his closed door. He sees shadows, and senses shapes. Each one is unique, so he has no trouble navigating to the med bay, glasses still on to avoid suspicion.

 

To be honest, he’s not terrified yet. He’s still thinking that another round in the pods will cure him completely.

 

So when he finds Coran and explains the situation he’s woken up to, he doesn’t think much of the pause that follows. Or the…the strange  _feeling_ that washes over him. And maybe feeling isn’t the right way to describe it. What Lance experiences is more of a  _colour_. Grey tendrils sneak into his field of vision, clinging to the shadows that he thinks might be Coran.

But he doesn’t think much of that either. Surely it’s a good sign.

 

He rests in the pod: an hour, maybe longer.

 

But when he wakes it’s no better. In fact it feels worse. The room is still black, and when he tells Coran nothing has changed, a sharp blossom of that same grey from before dances in his vision. Teasing him. Confusing him. It sits and pulses on a place that Lance guesses to be Coran’s chest, shifting in hue as it swirls in lazy circles, like dipping paint into water.

 

 _“I’ll look into it, Lance,”_ he’s told, but the reassurance is false. He can feel it. He can…see it, in a way. But he smiles regardless, because Coran doesn’t need to know the lingering dread taking hold in his gut.

 

So he nods, and when he’s at the door he pauses.

 

_“Don’t tell the others, please.”_

 

He thinks Coran nods. He can’t tell. All he sees is that shade of grey growing darker and darker. He leaves before that too is swallowed in black.

 

* * *

 

His eyes don’t work. But he doesn’t want to admit it yet.

 

He goes about his day, laughing, smiling, all the while lying to himself and the others that there’s anything wrong. He’s sure that his eyes still  _look_ the same, otherwise someone would have mentioned something. And it’s not like everything is this massive darkness that he easily loses himself in.

 

He can still make things out. It takes time, like his eyes are still adjusting to the sudden pitch black of his surroundings, but he gets used to it. Manages it. Tolerates it.

 

The colours…they help, though he has no idea what they mean.

 

Hunk is usually green, as is Pidge. And originally Lance thought that had something to do with their lions, but that would imply Hunk would have a solid yellow circling his chest. But he doesn’t, not all the time at least. Occasionally a spike of marigold will merge with the green, but it never amounts to much. He remains steady, and Lance feels relaxed in his presence.

 

But he doesn’t tell him.

 

Because that would be admitting it to himself. So he stays quiet, and tries to solve the mystery of the colours.

 

He doesn’t get far. They can remain constant for hours, and then shift suddenly, without warning. Green will turn blue, red will become brown, purple will tangle with black until nothing is left but a muted grey. Grey. Grey, swirling around the people like a mist that hides them from sight.

 

Lance sees a lot of grey.

 

He begins to fear the colour.

 

* * *

 

His eyes don’t work. And Lance regrets taking advantage of them.

 

Because there’s so much he wants to see! So much his friends tell him about, speaking to him as if he  _knows_  what has them grinning. Because he should, right? There’s nothing wrong with him.  

 

Pidge mentions a flower she’s managed to grow in her room: speaks of it’s petals and how they shimmer pink in the light. And Lance nods, agreeing.

 

Hunk comments on his cooking, asking how he could eat something that shade of blue and not make a peep. And Lance chuckles, shrugging.

 

Shiro asks if Allura is right: that the Black lion is really just a very deep shade of purple indiscernible to the human eye. And Lance ponders, before shaking his head.

 

And the lies are building up within him as he waves off his friends concerns and pretends that nothing is wrong, but he  _knows_  that they’re catching on. He can feel it. Grey. Grey. Grey.

 

Only Coran knows the full truth. But nothing he tries works, and Lance begins skipping the appointments. Making up excuses for his absences to meetings, or dinners, or training sessions.

 

He’s scared about what will happen when they need the lions. He nearly vomits when he thinks about forming Voltron.

 

He can’t let his team down. He can’t. And yet…here he is, staring out a window of utter blackness, lost in his thoughts and not able to focus on a single point. But at least on his own the colours fade. There’s no grey here, staring off into space.

 

There’s only darkness, though that’s hardly a comfort.

 

He wishes he’d paid more attention to the stars.

 

* * *

 

His eyes don’t work. Except to make tears that sting his cheeks.

 

And he wipes at them frantically when he hears footsteps approach, before turning and meeting a blinding red. He doesn’t know who stands in the doorway, staring. He can’t tell because they don’t speak at first.

 

They just stand there: bright and colourful and red! Pink! Purple! There’s no grey. Hardly any black.

 

And he can’t guess who it is-can’t call out in confusion. Because that would give it away. So he stares, and the reds shift to blues shift to yellows. But no grey.

 

_“Lance?”_

 

Oh. Who would have known.

 

 _“Hey…Keith.”_  He hears the footsteps come close, and that yellow burns brighter. Lance looks away, reminded of times he would stare at the sun. A memory, now.  _“What are you doing here?”_

 

He asks, despite not wanting to converse, but something odd happens. Yellow vanishes, just like that. And the red is back.

 

But it’s not a solid red: it varies in hue, dark to light, and it dances with magenta. Tangos with purple. Deep navies join the mix, and it’s a sunset, fading to a soft pink in the center, scared to glow brighter.

 

It’s beautiful, and Lance has never seen anything like it. He hadn’t exactly been  _avoiding_ Keith since discovering his lack of proper sight, but he’d not made much effort to…well,  _see_  him either. He’d figured Keith’s colours would be depressing. Grey, like the others. Worse even.

 

Ironic, how blind he’d been to the truth.

 

 _“I just wanted to make sure you were feeling alright,”_ Keith admits, and green joins the parade.  _“You sort of vanished after dinner.”_

 

 _“Ah, yeah,”_  Lance confesses, rubbing the back of his neck as he blinks. His eyes were beginning to dry out from staring. But he can’t help it. He’d gotten so used to the grey, and even if the others  _weren’t_  some shade of it, their own colours had grown muted and bland. Washed out. Tired. Lance had almost forgotten what it felt like to witness unapologetically vivid hues.  _“Just…felt like being alone.”_

 

It’s an excuse he’s been using a lot, recently. But where the others show concern, blanched in grey, Keith’s colours spike, and the purple intensifies.

 

 _“I get that,”_ Keith says, and promptly sits beside him. _“It’s been pretty hectic lately. I’m surprised we haven’t needed Voltron yet.”_

 

Lance swallows thickly, nerves prickling uncomfortably.

 

 _“Didn’t you have a mission today?”_  he asks to change the subject. Lime green, and the pink pushes through it.

 

 _“I did! Yeah. Allura originally wanted you to come with me, but apparently Coran said Pidge was better suited for the job, so…”_  Keith shrugs, and Lance sends a silent thanks to Coran for covering for him. He worries about how much longer that can go on.

 

 _“So how was it?”_  he presses, eager to be away from any suspicions Keith may have.  _“Find anything good?”_

 

 _“Not really,”_  Keith concedes, and Lance ogles the array of colours he gives off. Wonders how it could be possible. What it could mean.  _“But there was this amazing waterfall! I think you would have liked it.”_

 

More pink. It’s threatening to drown out the others now.

 

 _“Is that so?”_  he manages, stomach pulling tight as he tries to keep his gaze on where Keith’s face would be, and away from the mass of abstract art painting its way across his chest.  _“What makes you say that?”_

 

 _“Well,”_  Keith continues, and it’s magenta. It’s rose. It’s fuchsia. It’s overwhelming! And it’s splendid to behold. _“It was surrounded by moss covered rocks, and there was a small sandy area, only the sand was a purple colour, which was weird. And there were little yellow flowers scattered in the water, like they’d fallen from the sky.”_  Keith trails off with a chuckle, and the pink pulses dangerously.  _“ **You should have seen it.** ”_

 

And Lance gasps. He doesn’t mean to, he just…sort of feels it slip passed his lips as Keith’s words wash over him.  _You should have seen it._

 

But he can’t. He wants to, more than anything. But he can’t.

 

The pink fades slightly, replaced with a stronger yellow, and Lance feels Keith lean forward.

 

_“Hey…you good? You look really pale-”_

 

 _“Fine! I’m fine,”_  Lance spouts. It’s a lie. It’s all a lie. But it does the trick.

 

 _“Oh, okay then…”_  Keith pauses for a moment, and then the pink is back and it’s so blinding that Lance is almost tempted to cover his eyes.  _“I took some pictures, if you wanna-”_

 

_Oh no. No, no, no-!_

 

_“I can’t.”_

 

He doesn’t mean to say it.

 

 _“What do you mean?”_  

 

_“I…can’t-”_

 

The colours are fading. Keith is turning grey. It’s back, and it’s eating all the marvelous colours with a vengeance, as if reminding Lance that he isn’t allowed to see them. He doesn’t deserve it. All he gets is grey. And black.

 

And grey.

 

_Grey._

 

He stands. Lurches to his feet.

 

And he runs, blindly, not caring where he ends up. He runs until he can no longer see the colours Keith exudes, or feel the emotions they bring. He runs until the grey can’t follow, and everything is black again. And when he finds a corner to hide in, he pulls the hood of his jacket up over his head. Just to be safe. To drown it all out. To pretend he’s in a nightmare and he’ll wake and his vision will be back and be  _normal_ again!

 

But he doesn’t wake. He can’t. Because it’s not a dream. It’s his new reality, and it’s a realization that Lance finally succumbs to, collapsing in on himself as he sobs and wishes he could see again. His family, his friends, their faces! He wants to see.  _He wants to see!_

 

But he can’t see.

 

Because his eyes don’t work.

 

And they never will again.


End file.
